At Your Door
by dragoon811
Summary: Yearning for a family, a complex potion gone awry. Heartbreak, an unknown suitor. ...It's always fairy tales, isn't it?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: As per the norm, I do not in any way, shape, or form own the rights to Harry Potter. That belongs to JK Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers...whoever. I just have a very active plot bunny farm and the inclination to write.**

**Author's Note: I M Sterling owes me homemade candy for this fic, you know. I like girl fudge. (Boy fudge is the kind with nuts... yes, I made that joke.) I should say now that this is going to be written a bit differently than my normal work, as it's based loosely on a fairy tale. AND many hundreds of thanks to the fantastic Roz1013 for beta-ing this fic for me. Her work is wonderful. **

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**Chapter 1**

Flipping idly through the book on his lap, Severus swirled the half-glass of whiskey. He really shouldn't have gone to the Manor for the holidays. It was depressing to watch Lucius and Cissy with their son, who was courting his own bride-to-be.

_Nauseating._

He was getting old, he knew. Well, perhaps turning forty-four in a week wasn't 'old', _per se_, but he certainly felt old. His friends had children, and their children were falling in love and would soon have children of their own. At least his godson would probably let him hold a babe when the time came, maybe even watch it overnight. He was good with babies.

_Drooling little shite-makers._

It wasn't something anyone would expect from him, and he knew it – he was surly, taciturn, and a right bastard most of the time. It was a well-guarded secret that Severus Snape loved children, even longed for one or two of his own. But his dreams had died with Lily; children needed parents who loved each other, did they not?

_Miserable bastard_.

Oh, he hated dunderheaded children, make no mistake. His own childhood was abysmal, absolutely no template for parenting style. But his own children... if he could have them... he would read to them, play with them, teach them potions the way he had with Draco before Lucius had spoiled him rotten. In his fantasies he'd plant an ingredient garden with his children, and they'd come to love potions as much as he did. He'd have to have more than one, he thought, so they weren't alone like he had been. He'd be the opposite of his own arse of a father, and show his offspring his love for them.

_Lonely old bugger_.

He leafed through another chapter, maintaining the charm that kept the words from sliding back into old Norse. Draco and Cissy had been cleaning out Lucius's books, and found this rather rare tome on potions which they'd promptly wrapped as his Christmas present before Lucius could realise it was missing. And like any Slytherin, he'd gleefully zapped his blond friend with a mild Stinging Hex when he'd tried to get it back while his wife and son looked on with hidden smirks.

_You lose, I win__,__ Lucius._

Really, he should look into having children before this job killed him. Single parents functioned just fine, if the students in his classes were any indication. And Albus's portrait kept badgering him about looking for a spouse. The twinkling old bastard didn't seem to realise that finding a partner outside of a Muggle bar or a risqué service in Knockturn Alley was nigh impossible for Severus. If he was honest he wanted more than just a child; he wanted a family.

_What's this?_

Severus frowned and squinted at the book, then Summoned his reading glasses. It was a spell and potion combination promising a bit of tricky wand work, which was always a challenge. Further reading showed that the potion would show the brewer their ideal mate, and claimed a high success rate for a lasting love between the mate and brewer.

_Interesting_.

Levering to his feet and ignoring Albus's curious questions as the dotty wizard followed him from canvas to canvas, Severus strode to the lab and began pulling ingredients. He could do this. Sod it all, he would try it out. After all, he was one of the most brilliant Potions Masters the world had ever seen. The brewing was complicated and he chopped, diced, juiced and stirred in precise timing until the very first rays of dawn when he began to point his wand at the cauldron, incanting the spell while envisioning everything he wanted in a mate, a spouse, and only a spouse. A vision of a child, a family, passed through his mind unbidden, and the cauldron exploded.

_Bugger!_

* * *

"Oh, dear," Albus said, looking down at the figure swathed in black cloth of the laboratory floor. That had gone spectacularly wrong. The child wasn't moving beyond a restful breathing and seemed relatively unharmed, or as near as he could tell without being flesh and blood.

Clearly, he would require assistance. It was the holidays and no one was in the castle except the house-elves. Not that Severus would want this broadcast to any of the staff, not even Poppy, if he could avoid it.

It took him several minutes in the kitchen to attract the attention of the elves, and even then Dipsy was the only one willing to risk Severus's potential wrath as he made sure the child was fed and clothed appropriately. It was a harrowing day for the poor house-elf, following the quiet, wide-eyed boy around the Potions Master's rooms, keeping him away from the potentially-hazardous books and the decanter of whiskey.

Albus had the poor elf prop the book up where he could read it and searched for what could have gone wrong. It was odd – Severus had clearly brewed the potion correctly, and he didn't recall the man making a mistake in the spell or wand-movements he saw illustrated here.

A sound came from the bedroom, and Albus moved into the landscape in the night-darkened bedroom. Severus stirred in the sheets with a groan.

"Goodness, that was an adventure."

"Water," Severus rasped, pulling his wand from somewhere and Summoned a glass. "How long was I out, Albus?"

"That, my boy, is a very curious question. You have no recollection?"

Black eyes glared at the portrait. "_Obviously_ not."

"Very troubling." Albus watching as Severus drained several glasses of water.

"I remember brewing the potion; I remember just _who_ it showed me, then the explosion. I assume you had an elf in here to put me to _bed._" The last was said with a sneer.

"Well, yes, considering you were about three or four years old and in no state to do it yourself."

That raised both eyebrows. "You must be joking."

Severus untangled himself from the sheets and shoved his feet into battered slippers before hurrying into the lab.

"At least you kept them from tidying this," he muttered.

"I only had them move the book – I cannot find a part that went wrong."

"Hrmm." Deft hands began the meticulous clean up of the potion, testing for contaminates. Judging by the thunderous frown on the man's face, it was perfect. He reached next for the book.

"Severus, if I may -"

A pale hand waved him to silence, eyes darting across the pages, then turning.

"Ah. Well, then." Severus sank into his desk chair, defeated.

"Did you find something, my boy?"

A harsh bark of laughter escaped him as he tipped his head back, black hair falling over pale shoulders and revealing the scarred neck.

"How funny you should call me that, Albus. I seem to have cursed myself."

"How so?"

Severus's lips parted, then closed with a growl. "I cannot say. Suffice to ask, how is your knowledge of children's tales _not _written by Beedle?"

"Quite good, I should think. I was always an admirer of 'Hansel and Gretel.'"

"You just liked the notion of a candy house." Albus didn't deny the accusation. He'd also quite liked Bearskin, if only for the notion of the clothing Severus would no doubt term 'garish'. "How about Norwegian stories?"

"A few."

"'White-Bear-King,'" Severus groaned. "Or perhaps 'East of the Sun and West of the Moon', Albus. Regardless, I am quite doomed. I've doomed myself with -" Hands balled into fists and pressed to his eyes.

"Surely, you are not." Albus peered at him over his spectacles. "As I recall, the spell is easily broken when no troll-bred witches are involved. It would most likely require true love's kiss, unless you go the route of using a caretaker like in the stories."

"Where would you think I would find a woman to fall in love with me as a child, Albus?" The tone was scathing. "I'll be trapped as a child for a _year_. Helpless. What if someone finds out?"

"Only during the day. And you know as well as I that it could be a shorter sentence, given that you will be a child, and not an animal." Severus sighed. "What of the woman your potion showed you? Anyone suited to you would be clever and powerful enough to protect a child... surely she could learn to love you?"

"What would you have me do? Leave myself on her doorstep in a basket with a letter? Write her love notes? You've gone senile – I don't think your canvas was cured properly, you're clearly off your rocker."

"That's it exactly, I think. We can enlist Dipsy to keep her from seeing you at night – a few drops of a mild sedative would be all it takes." He sat back in the painted chair. "Who is the lucky young woman, Severus?"

"We'd _need_ to sedate her, if only to avoid her curiosity," he muttered. "It's Hermione Granger."

"A perfect match; you've fancied her for ages." He beamed at the man he considered almost a son. "Write a letter, Severus. I'll have Dipsy find a basket. Oh, and write a letter to Minerva, as well. Tell her you'll be back in a year. I'm sure Horace won't mind coming in to cover for you."

Severus groaned but did as he said. "I do _not_ fancy know-it-alls who date red-headed imbeciles or empty-minded Quidditch players, Albus."

He just twinkled down at him.

"I swear on Merlin's saggy arms, Albus, I _will_ brew that paint-stripper if you don't stop that. You're not helping."

* * *

"I need more ice cream," Hermione told Crookshanks with a sniffle. Her eyes were swollen and she looked a fright. "Or an International Portkey."

The cat glared at her as if to say 'stop feeling pathetic for yourself'.

"I know," she moaned, dropping her spoon to the coffee table. "I'm a grown woman who doesn't need her mummy when a boy dumps her for someone else and she loses her job in the same day. But I _can_ eat ice cream, Crooks. Even you can't stop me."

He meowed at her and promptly sat on her arms.

"Crooks!" She struggled but he had long-perfected the ability to magically increase his weight by simply not wanting to be moved. She sighed and bent awkwardly to nuzzle his fur. "Oh, Crooks... I'll be okay, honest."

"'Miooooooneeeeee," her hearth sang out as the fire flared emerald. "Let us through, will you? Bit cramped in here."

She spoke the password to her fireplace in an undertone, allowing her two best friends to tumble out in a tangle of limbs.

"I brought some of Mum's pie, I'll get plates," Ron said by way of greeting, rushing into her small kitchen, nodding as Harry hollered after him to include forks.

"Hey, 'Mione." She gave Harry a watery smile. "Spectacular way to get fired, I have to say."

"It's okay. I think I was more upset about getting dumped for an air-headed bimbo than the job." She gave him a curious look. "Does Molly know you're both here with her pie, or am I going to get another Howler?"

"She should – it was Gin's suggestion actually, as Percy regaled us with the tale and Mum didn't say we _couldn't__,_" Ron replied, dropping heavily onto the couch despite Hermione's frown. Crookshanks hissed and darted off her lap to the armchair. Squeezed as she was between the two boys, she barely managed to lift her fork to her mouth. "Krum's a tosser, Hermione. Been telling you for ages."

"I know," she choked out. It didn't help. "But... he was..."

"Shh," both boys said, holding her and each other as she cried. She missed Viktor, his smooth voice and dark, gawky looks. She missed reading quietly with him, and she even missed the cuddling after mediocre sex, now that she realised it hadn't happened for months. He had been a good companion, tolerating her long hours at the Department for International Magical Cooperation.

And now she knew he'd been using her, using her status, the entire time. Instead of waiting for her at home, he'd been out with other women and found her frigid. He'd made that perfectly clear, so she'd hexed his bollocks off.

Literally. He'd find them eventually, if he ever bothered to sleep in his own bed rather than with one of his air-headed twats.

"It's okay, 'Mione." Harry pressed a kiss to her curls and pulled back with a rueful grin as Ron carefully saved his glasses from the tangled mass. "You deserve someone better than him."

"I know." It was muffled in Ron's armpit, but they heard it nonetheless.

"C'mon, describe to us your perfect man," Ron said cheerfully, poking her until she giggled. "We're Aurors, we can find him for you!"

"With my luck, he's married or dead," she said morosely. "Someone..."

"Intelligent!" Harry offered. Ron snorted.

"He'd have to be, for you, 'Mione."

"And tall, so he could lean over you all sexy-like. That's always hot," Harry told her. She rolled her eyes.

"With a big -" Ron started, before Hermione elbowed him in the gut.

"Ronald!" She flushed, aghast. "No! I mean, well, yes, that would be nice, but it's not necessary!"

Harry grinned and poked her knee. "So tell us what you do want."

She huffed. "Someone intelligent, yes, _thank you_, Harry. Taller than me, at least. Who listens to me. Who doesn't mind sitting and reading. Who's _loyal_. I want... I want a man to worship me for me. I want him to love me, to put me first. And for him... for him, I'd do anything."

"Oh, you've gone dreamy-eyed," Ron teased, pulling her into a hug.

"Have someone in mind, 'Mione?"

"No." But she looked at the pattern of Ron's shirt guiltily so Harry wouldn't see. She wanted a certain man, tall and lean with a wicked mouth, a quicksilver mind, and clever hands and dark hair who would never, ever look at her twice and who Viktor could never hope to even compare to.

"Right, then." Ron said, patting her. "Harry, did you bring that wine? I think we need to cheer her up a bit more. Maybe some more pie."

She managed a weak laugh. "You'll never change, will you, Ron?"

"Not 'til the Cannons win," he told her seriously. "And even then, I might wait a few seasons just to make sure it's not a fluke."

"That's a 'no', in case you still don't follow Quidditch," Harry said with a wink, rising. "Where do you keep the wine glasses?"

"They were his," she said in a small voice. "I don't drink much wine."

"Coffee mugs it is, then!" Harry leapt over the back of the couch, landing lightly, with three horribly mismatched mugs, gifts from her parents' various trips, in hand. "White or red?"

"I don't care."

And she didn't. Right now, getting horribly drunk with her two best friends, sandwiched between the two of them and basking in their love while eating far too much of Molly's best apple pie sounded like the most wonderful thing in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I just wanted to say "thank you!" to you all for reviewing and favoriting or reading! :)  
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**Chapter 2**

Severus pressed close to her door, Disillusioned and feeling distinctly ill-at-ease as his fingers caressed the cold wood of their own volition. She was...single? Free? Glancing down at the letter he held, he wondered if perhaps this could truly work. A year (or supposedly true love's kiss, but that was a mere conjecture) would free him from a curse he'd inflicted upon himself. Granted, neither he nor Albus were sure what would occur if she _did_ see him before either of those came to pass, but as there were no records of someone who'd cursed themselves, they were more or less flying blind. He knew that Hermione was curious and had left her a small clue that would, hopefully, deter her from seeking him at night.

Dipsy tugged on his shirtsleeve as the night ended, the drunken revelry inside having long-faded into sleep. He was terrified – would she reject him? Would she keep him? Did she even want children? He had no way of knowing. But Albus had twinkled and, like a well-trained little soldier, here he was.

Taking deep shuddering breaths he stepped into the basket as the sun rose and a small child stood where he had, looking confused. The elf helped the little boy to lie down; wielding magic to keep others from noticing the basket on the little cottage's front step as well as provide him with warmth and rocked him to sleep. It was only dawn, and he doubted the witch inside would be awake any time soon.

The little boy yawned and when his eyes started closing Dipsy's ears perked up. Master Potions Professor wasn't a bad man, and had always treated the elf well. The Painted Bearded Bastard, as Master Potions Professor requested he be referred to, had given him very clear directions. As a Hogwarts elf it was his pride and pleasure to be called into such service for the castle's occupants.

With a final glance the elf adjusted the envelope so it was clearly visible. He frowned, then snapped his fingers, modifying the handwriting on the parchment. If Miss Hermione Granger were as clever as the other elves said, she would recognise Master Potions Professor's hand – it was quite distinctive.

They waited on the step for hours, listening as the witch and her wizards woke, clamoured for potions and the lavatory and ate breakfast. Finally, she was alone. Dipsy knocked on the door and disappeared from sight.

The door creaked out and Hermione appeared, frowning into the bright winter sunlight. "Hello? Hello, I – oh!"

She blinked repeatedly at the sight of the child in a basket on her step, looking around wildly before stooping to pluck the letter from the boy's sleep-limp hand. The parchment rustled as she unfolded it.

_Miss Granger -_

_I know what I am asking of you is more than a mere imposition; I am asking for you to care for a child whose origins you do not and may never know. I am asking you to blindly trust me, to do as I ask. If you cannot do this, then close your door and walk away now._

Well, that was curious, and she kept reading.

_I have been cursed, and cannot care for this boy as I would wish to – I have longed for children, for love, for so long that it saddens me to do this__ when it was so close within my reach. If people knew __who he __was__ they __will __use hi__m and__ harm him__ and I cannot allow that to happen again._

_You are powerful, intelligent, a beacon of hope and goodness in our community. I admit, I have long-admired you__ and will be amenable to writing to you as I am able over the next year. If you have questions or concerns, merely leave a letter on your dining table__ and it shall find its way to me, I swear it._

_I have but three requests: 1) do not try to discover who I am. 2) do not seek the identity of this boy. 3) do not gaze upon him in the night._

_Also, it's more of an order – keep your dunderheaded friends from pryin__g__ as well__ or all may be for naught._

_I know you are a Gryffindor__ and suffer from insatiable curiosity, but I swear upon my wand that I mean this boy and yourself no harm, that I have not stolen him away from his parents in any way. Do not, Miss Granger, engage your stubborn little brain into solving a mystery that does not exist._

_You may call him Valemon._

_Care for him. Care for me. Please._

_Yours._

Hermione frowned, turning the letter over, searching fruitlessly for clues. It was sincerely but oddly written. She knelt and pulled back the blanket to reveal the boy. He was young, maybe about four, not much older than Ginny's son, and her heart clenched.

"Hi, Valemon," she said softly, brushing her hand against the smoothness of his cheek. He stirred, dark lashes and hair against pale, pale skin. He was a beautiful boy – why leave him with her? Why not his mother or father? Hermione glanced around. No one was there and it tore at her heart. Hadn't they waited to see if she'd accept, if she'd bring him inside? What if she was heartless and hadn't taken him in.

"Alright," she murmured, rising and lifting the basket awkwardly. "Let's get you inside, sweetheart."

Getting the basket inside without waking him was a struggle, but he simply snuggled into the blankets once she set him down on the table. Bloody hell, she'd just acquired a child. Now what?

Hermione fidgeted a bit, cast a quick net around the table in case he rolled out, and ran to the Floo.

"Hello? Oh, hello, Molly, good morning, yes, I know it's early, I'm sorry – can you send the boys back over, please? No, no more pie, but thank you."

When Ron and Harry emerged rumpled and grumpy from the Floo, she gave them anxious grins. "Good morning, again...I actually need you to act like Aurors for a moment – Harry, you're wearing Ron's shirt again – and let me know if there are any little boys gone missing, around three or four years old? I don't want to know names or anything, just if they've gone missing."

They looked to each other, frowned and shook their heads. "None, 'Mione, why?"

"Oh, good, I was worried. He was left on my doorstep and I just... didn't want to accidentally have someone's kid, maybe Viktor's crappy idea of revenge."

"Merlin's beard," Ron breathed as they reached the table. "Hermione, you should report this."

"No," she told him firmly. "I'm not going to risk his safety for that; just... if you hear of a boy missing matching Valemon's – it's a _name_ Harry, stop giggling – description, he's here and safe. Alright? I can protect him. No one's going to bother me here."

"Hardly _anyone_ knows you live here," Harry muttered, looking over the letter and casting a few spells on it. "There's nothing here, it's totally clean. The kid could be from anywhere."

"Poor guy," Hermione said. "Someone _left _him out there, Harry! That's just cruel."

"I know." Ron made to grab the letter, but Harry shook his head, handing it back to Hermione. "We'll stay out of it, I promise, but if I hear of any missing kids matching _Valemon's_ description, I'll check into it discreetly."

"Thanks, Harry." She gave him a relieved smile and looked down at Valemon. Strange name, but a lot of wizards had unusual names.

"So... you're just... going to take him?" Ron asked, eyebrows raised above his blue eyes.

Harry gave him an exasperated look. "It's _'Mione_. Of course she is."

"'Mione, it's a kid! Not a house-elf!"

"So?" Alright, so it was a little reckless, but as long as he wasn't some kidnapped child dropped on her doorstep to hide him or incriminate her, she'd do what she could to help. Ron threw his hands up, but gave her that lopsided puppyish smile and shook his head so she knew he was teasing.

"Alright. Are we supposed to tell anyone he's here?"

"No," said Harry firmly. "The note sounds like someone may want to hurt the kid; if we don't say anything outside the three of us, it'll be alright. I'll keep my ears open, and _neither_ of us, Ron, will go digging."

"Less work for me," the redhead confirmed cheerily, taking a closer look at the kid. "Should I tell Mum to send you over some food, you know, 'to help you with the breakup'? That way you'll have time to get used to having a kid around without needing to cook?"

"That'd be a nice idea." She hadn't even considered it, but Ron was right, that would make sense. She gave him a grateful look. "Can you come over later tonight? I want to pop over to the local library – Muggle library, Harry, don't give me that look – and get a few books on parenting if I'm going to taking care of him."

"Always with the books." Harry ran a hand through the mess of his hair, and kissed her cheek. "I'll be over for dinner, how's that?"

"Brilliant! We'll bring the food," Ron added. "Bye, 'Mione, I'm going back to bed."

"Me too," Harry interjected with a wink. She rolled her eyes and hugged them both.

"Oh, and 'Mione," Ron whispered. "Harry _always_ looks good in my shirts."

"Out," she laughed, shoving him away. "Go away, you big overgrown children. Out."

The Floo flared as they made their exit and she shook her head, looking down at the sleeping Valemon. Would he be frightened, when he woke? What did he eat? Any allergies? Had he had his jabs? Did wizards have the equivalent, for that matter? Was he potty-trained?

"Bugger," she muttered, then clapped a hand over her mouth. "Alright, need to break that habit."

With a careful spell, she Levitated the basket and headed towards the guest bedroom. She'd have to transfigure some of the furnishings, but that was alright. What did four-year-olds sleep in? Beds? Cribs?

After some deliberation, she transfigured the bed into a lower, smaller one, with a railing that could be lowered or raised. Tricky wand work, but nothing she couldn't handle. The bureau she affixed to the wall, same with the bookshelf, and she sent the few texts there to the sitting room. She'd have to make room for them, but that was fine.

Gently, she lifted Valemon from the basket and put him on the bed, covering him with blankets. She was relieved to find that whoever had left him with her had left him with clothing. No emergency shopping trips was a good thing.

He looked so... fragile, sleeping. She wondered who he was, where his parents were, and how she could possibly care for him for a year. Hermione conjured a rocking chair and sat, twisting her hands in her t-shirt. Oh God, she'd more or less adopted a child. Now what?

"I don't know what to do," she whispered, worried. She _always_ knew what to do! She was Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, and she was at a loss.

She sat quietly, watching him sleep and making mental lists of things she would need to find out and things that she would need to get. Like books. The only children's book she had was Beedle the Bard. And toys. She'd need to get him some toys. Children liked toys, right?

There was a noise from the bed and she checked the clock – just past nine in the morning. Well, that was fine, it would give her time to herself in the mornings, at least for a few hours.

He sat bolt upright, eyes wild, and her heart melted. His black hair was mussed, and his eyes were black, too, and so expressive.

"It's okay," she said when his gaze landed on her. "It's okay; good morning, Valemon."

He clenched the sheet in his fists and curled up into himself.

"What do you remember? Anything?" He was silent, but she tried to keep her voice even. She didn't know how to talk to kids, other than like they were small adults. "It's okay to talk, I promise I won't hurt you – I'm supposed to take care of you, protect you. That's alright, right?"

His head bobbed, and she smiled. "My name is Hermione. And you're Valemon, right?" He hesitated, then nodded. "Would you like a tour? And some breakfast?"

He nodded again. "Yes, please."

She smiled widely. Such a cute and solemn little kid and surprisingly well-mannered. She rose slowly and held out her hand. He flinched at first, then hesitatingly left the bed and touched his fingertips to hers. When she kept waiting, he relaxed and took her hand. Poor little guy.

Matching her pace to his, she showed him around the small cottage, ending with the kitchen. He kept his pale hand firmly in hers, eyes darting about. What had happened to him that he was so distrustful? His eyes lit up at the sight of the books though, and she resolved to definitely check out some children's stories at the library.

He ate hungrily, like he was starved – and indeed he was very thin and nervous. When Crooks jumped onto the table to investigate him he nearly leapt out of his chair before realising it was a cat.

Hermione watched him through the afternoon, coaxing him into talking to her as much as a child could, trying to find out what he liked. He was fascinated by Crooks and the half-kneazle happily sat on the boy's lap, purring ecstatically. He liked flowers so she took him on a walk through the snow to her small greenhouse. He was quiet but was slowly started to relax around her. She found leftover toast in his pockets and that broke her heart – she'd seen Harry do the same after having had to stay with the Dursleys. Instead of saying anything, however, she left it alone, and decided to move some healthy snacks into his permanent reach until he learned there would always be food.

She'd need a job if she was going to care for him for a year. She could support herself with her savings for nearly two years, but a child? One she needed to protect? A job would definitely be in order but she'd wait until after a few months so that he would be used to being with her before she'd bring it up with him.

Valemon was shy, but when she sat on the couch and opened the copy of Beedle he seemed almost eager to clamber into her lap and they passed a very pleasant afternoon overall as it flurried, letting him explore the cottage and garden while their breath steamed in the winter air.

Finally, the Floo roared to life – he froze on the carpet as Ron and Harry tumbled out. But as soon as they straightened to their full heights he shrank back, screamed and scrambled away.

"It's okay!" Hermione called, giving the boys an exasperated look before chasing after him. "Valemon?"

She found him huddled under his bed – how he'd fit under there, she had no idea. Possibly childhood magic, recalling her own experiences.

"It's alright, Valemon, they're my friends, they brought dinner, it's okay." He pressed his lips together, shaking his head and trembling. "Oh sweetheart, I promise they won't hurt you. Would you rather eat dinner in here? That's okay, you know. It's okay. They're my very best friends, and they've always taken care of me – they brought dinner to welcome you here..."

Slowly he uncurled and she saw the imprint of his nails on his palms. Why was he so afraid? The poor boy... It took several minutes, but finally he wriggled out and she held him, stroking his fine hair and rocking him.

They travelled back to the living room together, Valemon securely in her arms. Ron and Harry were both seated, hands where they could see them – she supposed that the MLE taught things like that.

"Valemon, these are my friends," she said, shifting him to her hip. Merlin, he was heavy. "This is Ron, with the red hair, and Harry, with the glasses."

He buried his face in her neck until finally he peeked out. It was so cute she kissed the top of his head. "Time for dinner – Ron, you heat it up; Harry, will you set the table for four?"

"I, ah – may have ran off with some of Gin's kid's stuff," Ron said, lifting a bag. "Just a set of tableware, so you'll have to wash 'em a lot, but I don't think she'll miss them."

"Thank you," Hermione said, and was pleased when Valemon added his own soft word. Dinner was a hearty stew and there was definitely enough to provide dinner for a week. Harry left his seat slowly and knelt down to Valemon's height, crouching just out of arm's reach of him, keeping his hands still and his voice even, a pleasant smile on his face.

"I'm Harry," he told Valemon, glasses glinting in the light. "I met you this morning, but you were sleeping."

"Harry." Valemon repeated. There was a definite soft lisp on the 'r'. He took the spoon for his stew from Ron and watched both men warily. Hermione sat close to him, near enough that if he wanted he could reach out and touch her for reassurance.

"You're a cute kid, Val," Ron said, passing around a breadbasket. Val took two pieces, and Harry gave Hermione a sad look when he saw him pocket the second piece.

"Valemon," he said firmly, a sulky look on his young face. Dark brows furrowed together over his nose.

"Valemon, then." Ron was good-natured about the whole thing. "Well eat up, there's dessert – you were out of ice cream, 'Mione."

"I know," she muttered. "I ate it all crying over my ex."

"Mione sad?" Valemon gave her an anguished look.

"I was before you came," she said, touching his cheek gently. He looked at her searchingly and seemingly satisfied by what he saw, returned to his meal.

Dinner was quiet after that as they all got used to each other and Valemon definitely liked ice cream, if the miniature growling upon being denied seconds was any indication. Ron pulled a chess set out of somewhere and he played 'checkers' with the kid while Harry and she talked in hushed tones.

Finally, the sun began to lower and Valemon looked at her. "Bedtime. I have to go to bed now."

"Okay, kid," Ron said, and Valemon scowled, then scrambled to his feet, tugging on her sleeve urgently.

"Mione. Bed _now_."

"Yup." He hurried through night-time ablutions and stood on his bed, giving her a damp and minty kiss on the cheek. "Good night, Valemon, sleep sweet."

"Mione too."

She smiled and shut the door behind her with a click.

"Strange kid," Ron said, putting the chess set away. "But kinda cute."

"I liked the growling," Harry added lazily, lying on the rug and dropped his head into Ron's lap. "Are you going to check on him later?"

"No," she told him with a frown, waving her wand at the dishes.

"Good."

"Mate, I can't get up with you lying there."

"Yes, you can."

"Very funny, Harry."

"I'll leave a letter for whoever left him, though," she mused thoughtfully. "I don't know if he has any allergies and I still want to go to the library – Harry, can you keep Ron out of trouble?"

"Of course."

"Thanks." She flashed them both a grateful smile. "Don't wake him."

The trip to the library was fruitful, and she happily schlepped home a pile of books – some on parenting and child care, but most were children's books for Valemon. When the librarian raised her eyebrows at the books, Hermione smiled and told her all about how her best friend from school was coming over with her son and she had no idea what kids like or did – halfway through a flustered diatribe the librarian waved her to silence and Hermione masked a smile, happy to have avoided an unpleasant line of questioning or being added to the small town's gossip mill.

Harry and Ron were at the dining table playing chess when she returned. She winced as Ron's rook smashed one of Harry's bishops.

"I'm back you two, go home – Ron, stop toying with him and end it," she told them bossily. They grinned at her and Harry surrendered without complaint. She penned a quick note to her mysterious child-leaver while they tidied up their game.

After chasing them out and making them promise to go away for a few days, Hermione sent most of the books to the library and hefted some of the parenting texts to her room. She was pleasantly surprised to find a cup of tea on her bedside table under a stasis. How kind of them!

A few chapters in she yawned and stretched. God, today _had_ been tiring, now that she thought about it. Really, she should go brush her teeth and just go to bed.

* * *

Tra la la~


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I should say – thanks to I M Sterling for not only the encouragement to write this silly fic, but also for helping me with writing a child. :) Woot! Wow, Ashwinder posted chapter 3 pretty quickly. Guess who gets this earlier than I thought? You guys!  
**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Severus blinked slowly on the low twin bed. He was beginning to remember more and more of what happened during the day as a child, now that a few weeks had passed. At first, it had been disorienting, waking and knowing he'd been active all day, had bathed and been fed, but having no memory of it. The first night, Dipsy had come to get him from 'his' room once Hermione was asleep, and he'd answered her letter.

To be honest, he was surprised at how her first questions had been about the child – allergies, likes and dislikes – rather than curiosity about himself as the one leaving a child, though she had let him know she'd told her friends to stay out of it, but she'd better not hear about a child like Valemon having been kidnapped.

_No worry about that_, he thought with a frown. His fingers caressed the curve of the mug's handle as he sipped a mild tea in her kitchen. Even if he _was _kidnapped as a child now, no one would have batted an eye or even reported it. The thought was bitter – Hermione cared for him, for Valemon, so well.

He had a mild memory of snowball fights in the snow, of a warm floral scent – probably the greenhouse out back. It embarrassed him at first when he'd woken and found food in his pockets; he thought he'd broken himself of that habit, but clearly a four-year-old him hadn't done so yet. But it had been happening less, so he assumed that Valemon was growing more assured. Or was his ability to recall what happened as Valemon working both ways? He did distinctly remember – with a sneer at the mere thought – of being terrified of Potter.

_That_ had been curious, that the boy had been so gentle with Valemon. It made Severus look at him with a grudging respect. Very, very grudging.

Severus spent his nights recalling Hermione's laughter, her voice as she read and perusing her library. It'd been a pleasant surprise to find that she had every book and article he'd written, even those under a pen name (how she'd discovered that, he wasn't sure, but they were clearly grouped together with the rest of his work, chronologically). They'd been read many times, judging by the gentle wear of the pages.

She was a puzzle, and he wanted to figure her out. She seemed happy with Valemon, with her books, and didn't seem to go to a job, so he had plenty of time with her to watch and study her and her habits. The more he saw, the more he longed for her to return his feelings.

"Master Potions Professor," Dipsy appeared with a quiet pop at his elbow. "Dipsy has made supper, come, come!"

He sighed, looking longingly at the books, then at the hall where the woman herself rested in lightly-sedated slumber. Tonight he intended to write to her, now that he knew more of her. She'd become so much _more _than his memories of her.

"Dipsy – fetch me a quill and parchment," he ordered softly.

* * *

"What's this?" Hermione belted her bathrobe tighter and set the kettle on the stove, then moved to the table, where a folded piece of parchment sat with her name. "For me?"

She scanned the letter, sitting heavily in the chair. It was so...sweet. Hesitant and clever, as if the writer was known to her but didn't want to be. She smiled softly, stroking the page. Alright, they were right and she still longed for praise, for recognition, and to be called intelligent and lovely was...nice. The last time Viktor, damn him, had complimented her had been their third date. The writer had asked about her work, what she was working on with her 'brilliant mind', if she was alright taking care of Valemon, and thanking her. It was sweet, and she folded it carefully, resolving to write a reply before bed.

The kettle whistled and she made tea, enjoying the quiet time while Valemon slept. She loved winter – the world was quiet and wrapped in snow, and ice grew on the windows in patterns. As a child, she'd drawn in the ice, watching her words and doodles appear and disappear in the frost. The lopsided snowman she'd built with him outside was smiling gaily, wrapped in an old Weasley-jumper-turned-scarf and her sun hat for gardening.

Only a few weeks in her care, and he'd wormed his way into her heart, her quiet boy with his silky hair. He let her brush it and seemed to revel in the attention. Hadn't anyone shown him even the smallest bit of kindness before? He was surprised when she called him for a bath, or gave him a hug, and once he took her hand for a walk he had a hard time letting go. It was like he didn't want to be apart from her until bedtime.

Hermione glanced at the clock. He'd be up soon, thumping heavily down the hall and rubbing sleep from his wide black eyes, sniffling, to stare blearily at his breakfast place. Smiling, she carried her mug back to the kitchen, intent on making bacon sandwiches. Maybe he'd like to explore a little today? She needed groceries soon, and could take him to a Muggle market. If she needed something Magical, she'd have to ask Harry or Ron to watch him for a bit.

Not that they minded – they seemed to like Valemon, who was quickly learning chess and had already beaten Harry with a solemn little smirk. Ron had sworn (and had been promptly hit with a mild Stinging Hex) when Valemon had suddenly crossed the board and taken his queen in their last game before he'd realised he'd left her undefended.

"'Mione?"

"Morning," she said, finishing his sandwich first and cutting it neatly. "I felt like bacon sandwiches this morning, how about you?"

"'Kay." He blinked sleepily at his plate, frowning softly. He'd have a strong profile as he grew, she thought to herself. Very striking. He'd have to grow into his nose first, but he was a handsome little boy.

"I need to go out to the store today," she said, keeping her expression calm even as he looked up sharply, fear etched on his features. "To get groceries; would you like to come along? You can help me pick out veg."

He watched her carefully, his breath quickening. Oh, sweet boy, what had she done that bothered him so? Hands balling into fists, he asked: "'Mione wants me to come?"

"Well, yes," she told him. His brow furrowed. "There's nothing wrong with you coming to the store with me, as long as you don't run off. I'd be worried if you went missing."

"I'm not supposed to go out. I'm a freak." The last was whispered.

"Oh, Valemon, you're not a freak, love, I promise." She sank to her knees beside his chair and hugged him gently, angry at whomever had hurt him. He was just a little boy! "How about we finish breakfast, I'll make a grocery list, then we'll dress in warm clothes and walk to the shop."

"'Kay." He hugged her back, his voice soft in her ear.

When she wrote that letter tonight, she'd bloody well have a thing or two to say to her mysterious correspondent.

* * *

_Your concern for the child is appreciated, and...__touching. I had forgotten how ill-treated he was, truly. Having had incredibly similar experiences,__ Miss Granger, I assure you, I mean him no harm. I wish that I had had someone like you when I was his age. He and I were both quite alone, and friendless. Not allowed to go outside, no food unless it was scraps. No crying, lest we be hit._

_You do him and me a great service, and it only magnifies my respect for you. You are a caring soul, a singularly wonderful woman, to allow Valemon in your home and heart this way._

_He likes to read – he should be able to do so on his own already; he taught himself, you see. It is a hard-won skill of his. I doubt you'll need to be concerned about uncontrollable bursts of magic, an__d__ in truth, his magic would likely defend you rather than harm you, so deeply have you found a place in his heart._

_I do not have words, Miss Granger, to express my gratitude to you._

_You have inquired about me; allow me to be vague. I am quiet, prone to temper, and prefer solitude. I read a great deal, and your last contribution to _Arithmancy Quarterly _did not pass me unnoticed. It was so brilliant that I longed to reach out to you, but felt that I could not. Now, I have the freedom to do so__ and I find the experience both liberating and terrifying._

_If I could approach you as myself, I could. I would enjoy taking you to dinner and discussing with you the most recent publications._

_You are, and always have been, brilliant. You gleam so brightly among your peers that I __cannot__ help but be entranced. Your mind only accentuates your physical beauty, Miss Granger, and your heart is even more so._

_Yours._

Hermione had kept that letter, and the several dozen afte,r in a drawer in her coffee table. It had been four months since Valemon had come to her, and she'd begun writing back to her admirer, as she now called him, with increasing frequency. But that letter was her favourite. They talked over dreams for the future, of Valemon, of various academic subjects.

Whoever he was, and she was sure it was a he, he was brilliant. Quick-witted. And so tender with his words, his letters carefully crafted that she caressed each parchment with a cautious hand. She wished he were real, flesh and blood, and here in her life. How quickly she forgot Viktor, in light of the somewhat acerbic words penned by her admirer, the hesitant wishes he expressed for a family.

"Are you really mine?" Hermione murmured to the letter, pressing his signature of 'yours' to her lips one last time before placing it with the others. She was certainly his by now, her heart enraptured. Harry and Ron had expressed concern over it, but they hadn't found any evidence of foul play involved, so they let it be.

At the same time, she felt horribly, horribly guilty. Here she was, having dated Ron briefly, having dated Viktor longer, having held a crush on a teacher for more years than she cared to recount, and now falling for someone who didn't exist in her life outside ink and paper.

"'Mione!" Valemon skidded into the living room, all gangling limbs and swinging hair, a wide smile on his face. "It bloomed! Come see!"

She loved his smile – he smiled so rarely and when he was excited it spread across his lips it and made her return it in kind. She took his hand, following him out to the yard where the little rose plant was that she'd gotten him when he'd looked at it, shrivelled and nearly withered in the shop, and given her the most beseeching look.

They'd defended the little thing from Crooks's attempts to eat it and he'd been taking excellent care of it once the ground was warm enough to break.

"Oh, it's lovely," she said, dropping next to him in the grass. He certainly had a green thumb to go with his voracious reading habit at least, so keeping him active out-of-doors wasn't too difficult. "I didn't realise it'd be pink."

"Pink is pretty." His cheeks were flushed as he crouched, bony knees hugged to his chest. A pale and gentle hand reached out and brushed a petal. "Like 'Mione."

She kissed his cheek and he traced more of the rose, the gesture oddly familiar.

"I grew it, 'Mione."

"Yup; I'm so proud of you."

He beamed and she tousled his hair. "I wish 'Mione was my mummy."

"You're still my boy," she told him after a quiet moment, and kissed his cheek.

Later, in the privacy of her bedroom as she grew more and more tired, Hermione sighed. She'd wanted children and had been disappointed when things with Ron _really_ hadn't worked out, and had been devastated when Viktor wouldn't even hear of it. She couldn't be Valemon's mum, and she wished she could be. She'd missed so much of his life, and now it seemed like he'd always been there, an old soul in a young body.

She stifled a quiet sob. She wanted children of her own, a family. A man to share it with. And now her admirer seemed like an unattainable dream.

* * *

"'Mione, did you see the news? Hi, Val," Ron said by way of greeting, clambering out of the Floo.

That familiar miniature scowl crossed his pale features. "_Valemon_."

"That's what I said."

"What news, Ron?" she asked before Valemon could follow that with an insult. He'd gotten more open over the past months, his words better and his tongue quicker to lash Ron and Harry when they were particularly silly. Last time, he'd called Harry a dunderhead, and she had no idea where he'd heard the term.

"Budge over, I'm coming out, too," Harry called, and Ron quickly moved over. Hermione cast a quick Cleansing Charm over them both to get rid of the soot. Valemon's lip lifted at the mess before it disappeared, and he moved his picture book to safety.

"It's great news!" Ron said, handing her the Prophet. "Vector's retiring; they'll need a new Arithmancy teacher. And who do we know who's awesome at Arithmancy?"

"Me," Hermione said, leafing through to find the article. She loved Hogwarts! Going back to teach would be incredible! "Do you think I have a chance?"

Green eyes sparkled at her. "Of course you do – McGonagall _adores_ you, and you're _Hermione Granger_. They'd be daft not to hire you on the spot."

"Unless the black list from the Ministry keeps them from doing that," she said grimly. They'd kept her from finding a job for months now.

"Doubt it," Ron said, dropping onto the couch and Summoned a bag of crisps. Valemon snatched it out of the air and raised an eyebrow challengingly, opened it, and started digging in. "Cheeky kid. I knew I liked you. Accio crisps! In any case, 'Mione, the Ministry can't decide on teachers at Hogwarts – the only time they got away with it was Umbridge, and there's been new ruling since to avoid that. The governors can oust someone, but not the Ministry."

Hermione took the bag away from Valemon. "Not until after lunch, love. But what about Valemon? I can't leave him!" Her tone was anguished. "And I don't want anyone to hurt him or take him away."

"I can take care of myself," Valemon told her with a sullen look, eyeing the bag in her hand calculatingly. Something in the way he tilted his head made Harry frown.

"You can ask," Harry said. "I'm sure that between the teachers, you, and the elves, something could be arranged. It's only, what, another seven months?"

"Perhaps. Valemon? What do you think?" She knew better than to make such a big decision without him.

"You'd be a good teacher," he said honestly, looking straight at her with those expressive black eyes of his, then went back to his book.

It wasn't until later, after the boys had left and she'd owled the Headmistress, that Valemon hugged her and whispered, "Don't leave me."

"Never," she murmured, kissing his silky black hair and tapping his nose lightly.

* * *

She couldn't wait to write to him. He'd been snarky to her this month, complaining over the lack of intelligent conversation as she and Valemon had prepared for the move to Hogwarts. Minerva, as she was to call her now, had offered to let the two of them move in early to prepare for teaching and learning the castle. Her rooms were quite large and even had a small balcony – they'd already potted Valemon's rose and placed it there. It was thriving still, and the sweet pink blush had darkened. It was beautiful, and she was so proud of him.

_Stop fretting, _her last letter from him had said. _You will perform admirably, Hermione. The staff and students will be lucky to have you_.

Hermione had come up with an idea, and penned her note quickly to him one night after Valemon had gone to bed in his new rooms. He even had a house-elf assigned to his care named Dipsy, who was shy but sweet.

And tonight she'd meet him, after a fashion. Her admirer was willing to have dinner with her late, in darkness, with obscuring charms. She'd offered to blindfold herself, and her nerves jangled with anticipation. This was Hogwarts; she was safe.

Valemon was in bed, and she changed into a cream-coloured dress, hoping he'd think her pretty. A touch of make-up, a delicate necklace, and she closed her eyes as the clock chimed, waiting. The whisper of silk against her face made her skin pebble, and it was charmed in place.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"My pleasure," came the faint rumble. A masculine voice, obscured with a spell, but the cadence was familiar. "Allow me."

A gentle hand with long, calloused fingers led her to the small dining table in her quarters.

"It is... lovely to meet you," she said cautiously.

"Again, yes," he replied, and the scent of food filled the room. "As you are unable to see, Hermione, I have opted for foods we can partake of without stabbing the table accidentally."

She laughed, relaxing and feeling carefully for her plate. He smelled divine, like man and parchment and herbs and sunshine. Familiar, but strange. His voice felt off to her, but their conversation lasted for hours. She'd missed this so much, having someone to talk to, to discuss things she'd read of ask questions and he had _answers_.

"It's late," he said softly, and her smile faltered. "You must rest, if you are to care for the child."

"Can you come back?" she blurted suddenly and he froze, fingertips against her arm.

"Yes," he said after an agonising moment. "But you may not see me, Hermione."

"I know." His fingers skimmed down her arm to her hand and he brought it to his mouth, brushing his lips over her knuckles.

"Good night, woman I could so love."

"Good night," she managed breathlessly, electricity zinging from her hand to her heart. And then she knew he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: and, alas, the final chapter. :)  
**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"Oh! Hello, Professor," Hermione said brightly, stepping over to the frame he was currently residing in.

"Hello, Miss Granger," Albus replied, twinkling. "Minerva told me you'd be joining us, I just did not realise you would be here so soon."

"I've been here a month," she told him pleasantly, shifting the books in her arms. "Valemon, Crookshanks, and I have been settling in – I imagine she already told you about him."

"Oh yes, I already know all about the boy. Interesting name he has. I can't say I've heard it before." Not in the Wizarding world, in any case, Albus amended to himself. "I am glad to see you as a Hogwarts Professor."

"Thank you!" Her eyes sparkled. "Ever since the bloody Ministry blacklist it's been a bear finding a job."

Albus chuckled. "I was in my other portrait at the time. People were awfully surprised to hear you rip into three members of the Wizengamot in such a way. And the hexes were quite creative."

Hermione shrugged, blushing. "Well, their laws about Muggle-born advancement in the Ministry were unfair - after all we've fought for! Those narrow-minded..." She took a deep breath, calming herself. "It's all worked out, though. I've missed the castle, and I'm so excited to start teaching."

"And how is your gentleman caller taking the news of your move?"

"Pardon?" She flushed, eyes wide.

"Dear girl, you've been humming according to the other portraits – a tad off-key, not that we mind – and that usually means you've got someone special. Indulge an old man's curiosity for gossip, would you?" He sat back in on the painted root of the tree behind him. "Who is he?"

Hermione laughed slightly, hair falling over her face, and she pushed it back. "I assume he's taking it well and I still don't know who he is. I'm trying not to."

Albus gave her an expression of alarm. "You don't? How curious! You seem to like your young man."

"I do," she confessed softly, glancing both ways down the hall. "It feels like I've known him forever, or could spend forever knowing him. He's incredible, and he's been so kind to give Valemon to me... I'll miss him, when he's gone."

"What loves us is never truly gone," he quipped, patting the tree. "And you never know what you have, Miss Granger, until you look to see it. I should let you get back to setting up your office – say hello to your strange-named young man for me, dear."

"Alright. Goodbye, Professor, it's lovely to see you again. Truly." She watched him go, crossing a painting of a tea party and sampling a cup before moving on. Hermione shook her head – he was a strange old man, Professor Dumbledore, keeping up the kindly grandfather act despite everyone knowing he could be a manipulative old goat.

Shaking her head, she kept walking to her office, thinking. Had she really been humming? Alright, so she wasn't the best at music, but Valemon never complained, nor had her admirer when last week she had hummed while he guided her blindly around her quarters in a waltz.

How she adored him, her mystery man. He was cutting and cruel, but never towards her; usually towards whatever poor soul's work he was lampooning to try to out-argue her. He was clever, and funny, and she loved his sure, deft hands. And when they'd danced, she could tell he was strong and lean, and quite tall. He had long hair, she knew, as the strands had brushed her hand as he lifted it to his mouth for his customary goodnight kiss.

Despite longing to kiss him, she didn't feel she could. He was... unapproachable somehow, and he seemed almost sad and a little lost, like Valemon had.

Valemon again. Professor Dumbledore was right, it really was a curious name. She wondered what it meant, what the origins were. Resolving to stop by the library later, Hermione smiled as she thought of her boy sitting on the balcony with Dipsy, reading by the gentle fragrance of his dark pink rose.

* * *

"Happy Birthday!" Valemon said as opened the door to allow Harry and Ron entrance. "'Mione made _cake_."

He had been almost puppyish in his longing for the cake – Hermione had made it herself and had been pleased by his assured deftness as he assisted her in measuring and mixing. Valemon had been pleased, too, when his efforts meant that _he _got to lick the bowl and she'd gotten a sticky chocolate kiss on the cheek for her own work.

"I love cake," Harry told him seriously. "I had my first cake at eleven, did you know? Hagrid brought it for me."

"It tastes good," Valemon whispered shyly, but Hermione heard him. "I checked."

"Our Hermione makes good cake, my mum was adamant about it," Ron said. "I brought chess _and_ Exploding Snap – which do you want to play first?"

"Chinese checkers."

"Don't have it, Val."

"'Mione does."

"My mom sent me a set," Hermione called from the kitchen and emerged with mugs and kettle. "He loves it and he's really good at it; he beat me in no time."

"Are you, then?" Ron gave him an assessing look. "Alright, kid, get it and show me how to play."

Valemon strode off to his bedroom and Harry watched him go. "You know, he's really changed a lot since you met him."

"Who, Ron? He still has dirt on his nose." The ginger in question frowned, licked his thumb and started rubbing at where he thought the smudge could be.

"No, Valemon. He seems really... familiar, somehow. Doesn't he?"

"Of course he does – he's been living with me for over half a year... oh, Harry, over half a year. Then he'll go away again! What am I going to do without him?" It hit her like a brick and she turned anguished eyes to her best friend.

"Dirt's on the other side, Ron, but I think it just adds a little extra charm." Harry spared his partner a wink, then turned back to Hermione. "It'll be okay, Hermione. Things will work out, you see. How are things with your mystery man?"

"Good. How's the attempt to move you two out of the Burrow going?"

"Mum doesn't want us to leave," Ron said. "Even though Ginny's still at home, she's pregnant again, by the way, totally mental, that one, all happy about it. She thinks this one's Terry Boot's – remember him?"

"I do. And watch your conversation around Valemon," she hissed. "I don't want him picking up bad habits. Not while I have him."

"You won't have him too much longer, Hermione," Harry said worriedly, taking her hand. "Aren't you the least bit curious about where he came from? What if they won't let you visit him?"

Tears threatened; Harry had been trying to get her to investigate ever since they got to Hogwarts.

"Potter, stop making 'Mione cry." They all jumped; they hadn't heard Valemon enter the room, and he stood sneering at Harry, holding his Chinese Checkers in front of himself. "That's mean."

"Wasn't intentional," Harry told him, chucking his knuckles over Hermione's cheek. Valemon glowered at him until he moved away, then gave the game's box to Ron before climbing into Hermione's lap.

"I won't leave you," he told her in a hug so the boys wouldn't hear. "I love my 'Mione."

"I love you too," she said softly, holding him close. He was warm and familiar, and she loved him all the more.

"Chinese Checkers, all set up," Ron announced, as cheerfully oblivious as always. "Come show me how to play."

* * *

"Hermione," Harry said quietly.

"Hmm?" She turned to look at him sleepily, Valemon having long since gone to bed and the three adults had indulged in a glass or two of wine.

"Don't you ever wonder?"

She yawned. "I know his name's not a common one; I can't find a single Wizarding reference to it, and the only Muggle reference is an old fairy tale about a king who was cursed into a polar bear."

"Always the fairy tales, isn't it," Ron muttered as he emerged from the washroom, scratching his belly. He flopped down on the couch despite protests, landing his head in Harry's lap. "So what happened with the polar bear king?"

"The princess peeked at him at night while he was sleeping," Hermione said quietly. "After she'd promised not to. And he was taken away by the evil witch. So she had to find him and rescue him."

"That sucks."

"And you're _still _not curious?" Harry asked, surprised. Almost absently, he stroked Ron's hair like a cat. Crooks, jealous of the attention, jumped onto the arm of couch, demanding Hermione pet him.

Like any intelligent cat owner, Hermione obliged. "Of course I am! It's a clue _and_ a warning, Harry. I've told you before, it's like logic – most wizards haven't got a lick of it. And this logic says that if someone goes so far as drop a child on my door, tell me not to look, and then gives him the name of a fairy-tale character that I should probably listen to him."

"Listen to 'Mione, Harry," Ron mumbled. "She's clever, our Hermione. And put that back in your pocket."

Harry frowned but shoved the Marauder's Map away. Ron and Hermione giggled, then quieted.

"It's nice, being back," she said softly. The boys nodded in agreement. "Happy Birthday, Harry."

"Happy Birthday," Ron added. "Don't forget – plans with Hagrid tomorrow."

"I know. Something dangerous, I'm sure."

They laughed, relaxing in the quiet. Sometime after Ron had fallen asleep, his soft little drunken snores making them giggle, Harry titled his head back and squinted at her owlishly from behind his glasses.

"So you know, then?"

"Oh, Harry...I've always known, in my heart." She squeezed his hand and they sat sprawled on the couch, slowly sinking into slumber.

* * *

"I thought you might not come," Hermione said as he tied the silk over her eyes.

"I will always come for you," he replied gently, his hands gentle on her shoulders. "Did you doubt me?"

"I've never doubted you."

His heart quickened at her words; Severus loved her all the more each day, coming to her when her schedule permitted, leaving her letters when he couldn't. Nights she was busy he let himself out into the corridors with her cat, stalking the school as his mind argued with itself over whether or not she loved him.

"Come outside with me," he murmured, and they stepped out into the cool night air. She shivered and he stood behind her, offering her his warmth as he gazed into the stars while she could not. "Term starts soon."

"I know. And soon I will be busier than I have in ages. I will miss you, and Valemon."

He pressed his lips to her curls and was quiet. He would miss her as well. How could he be apart from her for half a year while she exhausted herself with teaching? Her days would belong to precious hours with Valemon, the remaining time to the students, and her nights to grading and lesson-planning. There would be no time for Severus.

"The rose smells wonderful," she said. "It must be magic, to have bloomed so long."

"Indeed."

"What if the curse is broken earlier than a year?"

"Curse?" Oh, clever girl, learning the truth and skipping right to the heart of it.

"Don't be coy – you chose _me_." Her voice went from firm to wondering, and he held her tighter. "I mean, come _on_. I'm not stupid. Of course it was you."

"I don't know," he whispered hoarsely. "Of all the things I do know, that is one of the things I do not."

"Then let's find out." Brash, tenacious little lioness – she twisted in his arms, pulling his face to hers before he could stop her.

"I love you, Severus," she whispered at the last moment then kissed him deeply. How, exactly, she'd known it was him didn't matter as heat raced through his body, setting him aflame. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against him as they both moaned.

Heat and passion – she was everything, and he sobbed words of love to her between fevered kisses, her own voice breathy with devotion. The heady scent of the blood red rose growing in the pot behind them filled the air as they feasted on each other.

When the morning came, they were both entangled in his robes, and he gave a strangled laugh upon realising that the sun was up and he was still a man. Plucking the silk from her eyes, he woke her with kisses, bewitching her mind with lust until she promised to marry him before the start of term - no, that afternoon - and together they would remake the little family she'd become so happy with.

And indeed, flushed and giddy, they Flooed the Burrow, dragging her best friends with them to the Ministry – after all, if he could like them as a child, he supposed he could tolerate them as an adult – and Hermione cut the rose for her token bouquet. It would bloom every year after that as they tended it, growing around _their_ cottage.

The Malfoys were alerted as well, seeing as how it was their book that had started the whole mess, and Hermione found she got on rather well with Astoria.

Minerva was pleased to have her Potions Master back, despite his abrupt (and rather rude) letter of departure, and Slughorn slunk back into retirement with the promise of several crates of crystallised pineapple. A certain Bulgarian may have gone missing, but as he was somewhat the villain of the tale, no one really took notice.

When children were born to the Professors Snape, they called them Rose and Valemon despite Harry's smirks and Ron's quips, and Dipsy was the very best nursemaid they could have asked for.

And they lived happily ever after.

The end. :)

* * *

Thanks for reading this little fairy tale-esque story! I hope you enjoyed it

* * *

Q&A!

_Gosh, that ended quickly!_  
It's a fairy tale, and based on that sort of model. In fact, my favorite fairy tale ends with the problem resolved, then reads: 'So the sick son married the well sister, and the well son married the sick sister, and they all lived happy and died happy, and never drank out of a dry cappy." Fairy tales resolve the main problem (but not everything), and then they all live happily ever after. :)

_Why doesn't Hermione pick up on the word 'dunderhead'?_  
Ok - I can, frankly, only think of one time Snape says that word. It's become the Snape equivalent of Dumbledore passing out lemon candies left, right, and center, which we also see very very little of in the books. As it's at LEAST five years post-war, she likely hasn't spoken to Snape much, if at all. Therefore, it can be considered that the last time she heard the word was her first year at Hogwarts.

_Why doesn't Hermione know it's him? Harry's suspicious!_  
This is modeled after a fairy tale-type of story. In them, people are either a) so good/clever/lucky it hurts, or b) they're stupid. Hermione is not stupid, but neither is she some shining beacon of goodness. She's intelligent enough to leave well enough alone - she's handled Dark objects and well-read on several subjects. Any research such an intelligent witch would do would spell out very loudly what's going on.

She's trying very hard not to endanger the person cursed. (Again, while she's attracted to Snape, she rarely speaks with him, and a formal style of writing is not unusual in the wizarding world.) She would know enough or research enough about spells and curses to realise that there's only two ways out - true love's kiss (untested), or simply waiting.

Hermione is not stupid - she's very good at keeping a secret, sometimes even from herself. (How long did it take her to admit she liked Ron in canon?) It's not important to her - what _is_ important is the little boy she's been entrusted with. He's sweet, endearing, scared and unloved. She wants a family, and even if this is for a short while, she gets one, so she's throwing herself into. Also, have you ever watched a child? Dear lord, they're exhausting, especially when you're unused to it.

As for Harry - of the three, _Harry_ has seen a child Snape. Harry has seen the mannerisms. Yes, he's 5 years younger than Harry has seen, but there's still enough familiarity.

Did I miss anything?


End file.
